A Length of Rope
by earth-dragon-1
Summary: Sam should have put it together; he should have seen a pattern. He should have paid attention.


Sam should have put it together; he should have seen a pattern.

He should have paid attention.

Sam should have pulled his head out of his selfish ass and, for once, given a thought for Dean.

But he hadn't; and like so many times before, Sam's selfishness had broken his brother. But this time, Sam knew, there was no coming back.

Dean didn't want to come back.

Sam knew it wasn't like Dean to pour through old volumes. Research, he called it. And Sam had laughed in his face because when was the last time Dean had voluntarily researched anything? But Dean had spent weeks and weeks reading through old books and manuscripts, searching Google and making notes.

And the entire time Sam had let it ride because, really, what did he care? If Dean wanted to do some research for a change then Sam certainly wasn't going to stop him.

Besides, Sam was occupied too. He was making his own plans. Hell was shut. He was free and clear; _they _were free and clear. But if Sam was going to be honest (and how could he not be now with Dean's body lying comatose, slowly wasting away?) he had only been thinking about himself. As usual.

He was done. Done. He was going to pack away everything that said _hunter_ and head back east, back to Sarah and maybe back to school. He didn't know what Dean was going to do. Really, he hadn't thought about it. He hadn't wanted to ask. Dean was his own person; he should be able to stand on his own. And it was well past time for Sam to put his foot down about going his own way.

Sam should have realized that Dean knew, and he should have been worried when Dean gave no indication of fighting him on it. When Sam had broached the subject of leaving, Dean had just given him a look, then without a word he had turned around and walked away. As usual, Sam had figured that Dean was pissed. When wasn't Dean pissed? But looking back on it now, Sam knew it wasn't anger that had been in Dean's face.

It had been resignation.

As time went on, Dean began to take trips. He would load up his duffel, pack his notes and research, and drive away in the Impala. The longest he was ever gone was a week. Sam had foolishly begun to hope these trips were Dean's way of giving him some much needed space. And if Dean always came back home with more than he had taken... well, replenishing the stocks and spell ingredients were always a good idea.

In truth, Sam had been damn curious.

He knew his brother was up to something, keeping secrets. But for as badly as Sam wanted to know, he didn't want to become involved. Ensnared. It ripped him in two to admit this now, but he knew the real reason why he never asked after Dean's strange activities was because he was afraid that, if he did, then he would get caught in a sticky spider's web.

He would be enticed to stay.

If he became involved in whatever Dean was doing, then he would become involved with Dean himself. And he knew that would just keep him trapped. So Sam ignored. He concentrated on himself and his plans, on what he wanted. And if he and Dean all but stopped speaking to one another, well... that would just make the final break easier.

It wasn't that he wanted to cut Dean out of his life altogether. He just wanted space. And distance. And freedom.

He knew the fact that he had never looked for Dean while he was in Purgatory was wrong. He had known it at the time. He could make up all kinds of pretty excuses - he didn't know how or where to look; he didn't know the correct rituals to perform. But he knew damn well they were all just flimsy excuses.

He hadn't looked for Dean because it had been easier not to.

It was easy to assume, to pretend, that he knew Dean was dead. That left him absolved of responsibility. It left him free and he had run with it. Run so far with it that when Dean returned Sam had been more bitter than relieved.

Dean wasn't stupid. For as many times as Sam had accused his brother of being reckless, unobservant, Sam knew Dean was actually far from stupid. Dean knew the real reasons why Sam hadn't looked for him. Dean knew why Sam wanted to leave again now that the Hell gates were closed. Dean knew so much about Sam. But now, Sam realized, he really knew nothing about Dean.

He never took the time or inclination to learn about his brother's fears or motivations. He had always demanded answers rather than asking for explanations. He never wanted to scratch deeper than the surface because he didn't want to confront the immense well of pain and loneliness behind his brother's green eyes.

He didn't want to know how much of it he was responsible for.

So Sam said nothing when Dean became quiet and withdrawn; he ignored it when Dean became secretive. And he thanked his luck stars when Dean just stood outside the Batcave and silently waved good-by as Sam drove away.

The first week went by with no contact and Sam was too happy in his new found freedom to notice.

The second week went by and Sam gave it a passing thought, but he was too distracted and decided not to call.

The third week went by and Sam wondered if Dean would want to hear about the classes he had registered for.

The fourth week went by and Sam became stubborn. Maybe Dean was angrier than he had thought. But he wasn't going to chase him. Dean was always the one who did the chasing. It wasn't really Sam's job to keep tabs.

The fifth week went by and Sam finally called but there was no answer.

The sixth week went by and finally Sam's phone rang, but it was Garth. Garth had been trying to contact Dean for two weeks with no answer.

Sam had told Garth to meet him at the Batcave in Kansas. If Dean was refusing to answer phone calls, refusing to talk, then they would have to drag him out. They would make him face them, and they would kick his ass for being so

Sam should have put it together; he should have seen a pattern.

Sam told Garth to meet him at the Batcave in Kansas. If Dean was refusing to answer phone calls, refusing to talk, then they would have to drag him out. They would make him face them, and they would kick his ass for being so obstinate.

Sam drove for eighteen hours, and he had refused to acknowledge any fear the entire way. Dean was such an ass, an incredibly stubborn ass. But he was fine.

But when Sam met Garth at the Batcave, they had found the front hatch standing wide open. That could have been nothing, but still, Sam had drawn his gun. When they entered the main hall they had discovered every light blazing and a fine layer of dust across all the furniture. And no sign of Dean. There was no sign of Dean, or anyone, anywhere at all, until they reached Dean's bedroom door. The door had been closed but not locked, with a simple note taped to it.

_In here. _

Sam had refused to acknowledge his pounding heart or trembling hands. He had refused to think about the fear, the dread, _the_ _certainty_, as he slowly pushed the heavy door open.

Then he had fallen to his knees and screamed when he discovered Dean' body, lying so still and bizarrely still warm, across the floor, surrounded by candles and sigils.

Sam had cradled Dean's body and screamed, demanding answers. Who did this? Who had done this to him?

And then Sam had cried when Garth's trembling voice carried over the den with the terrible answer.

Dean had done it to himself.

Months of research and supply gathering, months of silent heartache and secrecy, and finally years' worth of loneliness and neglect had culminated in this: an ancient, powerful, unbreakable spell.

Dean had finally found a way to end his pain, his loneliness and suffering. He had found a way to separate his soul from his body (though physical death would be extremely slow) and shatter it, utterly and completely. The pieces of his soul to be divided, scattered across the whole of creation.

Dean had found a way to ensure he could never be brought back.

And now Sam sits at his brother's hospital bedside, watching the doctors and nurses trying their best to find a cure, to even identify the problem.

Trying to revive Dean's empty body.

But they won't, and Sam knows this. Sam knows no amount of medical intervention or treatment will ever regather the shattered shards of Dean's broken soul.

And Sam... Well, Sam's not going to look for him either. Just like with Purgatory, Sam is choosing not to go after his brother. There will be no research, no spells or rituals. Once again, Sam is not going to try. But this time it's not because Sam is thinking of himself. He isn't thinking of Sarah or the east; he's not thinking of the classes he's missing or the life he could be out having. He's not thinking of how he's free and clear.

For once, he's thinking of Dean, and how finally - finally! - Dean is free and clear.

And he's thinking Dean deserves that more than anyone.

For once, he's thinking of _Dean_.


End file.
